


In Over My Head

by Lil_Hal



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, SHIELD Academy Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4492971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Hal/pseuds/Lil_Hal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I didn't find anyone interesting... except Fitz. He was clearly the smartest one here."<br/>"We weren't friends. We were enemies, bitter rivals ... He hated me. HATED. Me."</p><p>----</p><p>"I didn't like it here at the Academy, at first. I was shy, a bit of a loner."<br/>"I always thought Simmons and I would get on. Spent months trying to think of something smart enough to get her to notice me."<br/>"Simmons? No, no... she's a bit of an odd bird, that one. That's just me being honest."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Over My Head

The Academy honestly wasn’t as good as Leo Fitz had hoped.

The technology was amazing, _mindblowing_ even, and the material was complicated and almost like a puzzle to solve, but Fitz felt suffocated. His skills with interaction were measly at best, and communication as a whole was just… difficult. None of the other students got him, nobody understood when he tried to explain a concept or invention ideas. Sometimes someone would go to him for help, but that was shortlived; they could never keep up with his explanations and always found someone closer to their level. 

Fitz lingered in his dorm, sitting on his bed and fiddling with something small he was working on. He wasn’t actually looking at it or concentrating, he was glancing over the piles of laundry scattered all over his floor, the sketches and notes strewn all over his large desk. His insides were twisting with dread, because– 

His watch’s alarm went off, and he started at the sound. _That_ was why. It was time to head to Chemistry lab, which he couldn’t help but despise. The content, the thrill of the experiments and lab assignments were all dulled from the aching loneliness always pulling in Fitz’s chest, the terrifying awkwardness a solid lump in his throat that made it a struggle to speak. Another class, another lab partner that gave up on understanding him within ten minutes, another agonizing session of Fitz doing all the work or, if he insisted on being assisted, dumbing it down to something much less great than it could possibly be. Every day was another disappointment, another setup for a night of staring at the ceiling, numb and ready to quit. 

Forcing himself to get up, Fitz stood stiffly, almost mechanically. He leaned over to grab his jacket from over his chair and pulled it on over his button-up, fidgeting with the hem. He left the room then, making sure to lock his door. He hesitated just outside of his dorm room, swallowed the lump in vain (it always returned), and headed out to the Chemistry Lab. 

He arrived a little early as most days; sometimes he’d arrive a little late, but never exactly _on time_ , and stood over near the corner. The students took the few minutes before lab started to chat, which Fitz never participated in. Nobody took seats, as the professor would pick different lab partners each day. 

It was okay though, standing by himself in the corner. Fitz didn’t _really_ mind, standing and agonizing quietly over the sheer weight of the invisible barrier that separated him from everyone else. His arms stuck out awkwardly as his hands gripped his hips in the position that sometimes made other students stare, almost as though he was about to do the Chicken Dance, but the pose was comfortable to him and he found it hard to stop standing like that. It kept him from nervous habits, like scratching at his face or ears or biting his nails. 

His light gaze hovered around the door, watching his peers pour in, flicking his gaze shyly away anytime someone glanced his way when entering, and then… his mouth felt dry when she walked in–she being Jemma Simmons, the brilliant and gorgeous girl that was _just_ as young as Fitz was, stylish and smiling in her oblivious way: her smile was wide and directed at everyone as though they were her friends even though she really didn’t have any. She was the person people would go to in order to get their homework done, the person who would accidentally answer all the questions for someone and think she genuinely taught them. She was awkward, avoided but taken advantage of, and Fitz was completely in awe of her. 

Fitz was hardly aware of how he was _staring,_ his eyes followed Jemma as she nodded to the students she passed, making her way to the opposite side of the room, to watch from the wall like she did every day. They were so similar: awkward, young, smart… but Fitz couldn’t talk to her. The lump only got bigger and more stuck each time he even looked at her, any words he could possibly say to her would evaporate before he could even approach her. 

Simmons looked up–she probably felt his stare–and their gazes made contact. There was a second of hesitation before Fitz looked down at the floor instead, and in that second he saw that baffling look in her gaze; it was curious but heavy and when Fitz glanced back at her, she turned slightly away with her head tilted up, as though she was actively ignoring him. There was barely any time to mellow in embarrassment, however, as the professor started calling out names for lab partners, going down the list alphabetically by surnames. 

Fitz waited apprehensively for his partner’s name, glancing over the group of people talking to each other under their breath, quietly wondering if he’d manage to get someone good this time. His gut felt wrenched with anxiety, and he visibly flinched when he heard the start of his name being called. 

“Leo Fitz… today you’ll be working with Jemma Simmons.” 

Oh boy. 

The professor continued on with calling out names, but some students were just staring–some at Fitz, some at Simmons. Inhaling sharply, Fitz slowly shuffled to one of the workspaces on the lab counters, joined by Simmons only moments later. 

Neither of them spoke. 

Fitz leaned on the counter to look at the packet for the lab assignment and he could _feel_ Simmons looking over his shoulder. His skin prickled and he reached his hand up to scratch the back of his ear uncomfortably, refusing to look up or turn around in fear of making eye contact again. He stared at the words on the packet, for a couple heartbeats not _actually_ reading it, but then he couldn’t help himself and started poring over the requirements and tips (there weren’t really any instructions, it was one of the actual joys of the lab: creative freedom). Once he finished reading, he felt Simmons move back away from him as she finished reading over his shoulder, too. 

Neither of them spoke. 

The lump in Fitz’s throat was agonizing, but he at least had to get the assignment done. He’d never left any lab project incomplete as of yet, and he certainly wasn’t planning to just because of a girl. He slid his hands off the counter and turned on his heel, putting his hands awkwardly on his hips, and spoke all in the same breath. 

“Em, okay, so I think it’s _probably_ obvious we need to assemble everything first–” 

“Alright! First thing’s first, setting up the actual lab. I suggest–” 

They stared at each other, cutting off at the same time in the exact way they had both started talking at the same moment. Moments of silence passed where they just looked at each other, bewildered. Then Simmons smiled, and Fitz immediately returned the grin. The air seemed to fall into something more comfortable, _compatible_ , and Simmons stuck out her hand at him. 

“Jemma Simmons, Biochem.” 

Fitz looked at her hand before almost cautiously outstretching his arm to shake it. 

“Leo Fitz… Engineering.” 

“Excellent! Let’s begin then, shall we? I can gather the materials, if you want to read over the packet one more time.” With that Simmons turned to collect what they needed, leaving Fitz staring after her. 

He turned towards the packet but didn’t reread it. He grinned to himself, playing with the lobe of his right ear, finding that the lump he swallowed hadn’t returned.


End file.
